


Before I Hear the Stars

by Noctilucence



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Lotor Spring Exchange 2018, written before S5 dropped so no spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 11:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13856901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctilucence/pseuds/Noctilucence
Summary: A gift for Sorbette (tumblr) for the Lotor Spring Exchange 2018.Before the war, Altea's stars shone with the voices of those who came before Alfor and Allura; and then there was Lotor.Pre-war, canon-verse written before S5.





	Before I Hear the Stars

  
  


* * *

**

When she’d first met him, he was weak and uncoordinated, still growing into his limbs, the grace of his movements hindered by a much heavier body frame, and a childhood spent learning Galra fighting techniques that argued with his Altean instincts.

They had both trained against the drone, under careful supervision.

Allura had conquered it confidently, meeting every blow with a counter before it had even started.

Lotor on the other hand, had spent more time evading and watching than attacking—his tactics were showing his lack of experience with drones that did not tire, did not err—eventually he had drained himself and tripped, leading to a severe knockout that had left his head ringing for several days afterward.

When Alfor told her that he’d hoped to give her to this clumsy, inept youth, she’d laughed in disbelief.

She’d yelled and screamed with fire and grit until bitter acceptance slowly trickled into her mind.

She was Princess Allura, and she was no gift to be given in a desperate attempt to restore relations with a people her father had fallen out with.

Her people were waiting for her to take the throne and lead them into greatness.

She was supposed to meet a fierce warrior who would win her heart, pledge his loyalty and strength to her. Someone to love, who would watch her back as she formally entered the Altean court as its ruler.

  
She did not beg Alfor to change his mind, because she would not resort to such things, because princesses did not beg and whine like children.

_“As leaders, we have to do what’s right for our people.”_

Allura had heard the words all throughout her childhood—they were familiar and true, but no less irritating to be reminded of. She had the world at her feet, but she was a prisoner to it too.

Alfor’s gentleness cuts through her anger like a sword; he’d never raised his voice at her, in the hopes that she would inherit his pacifism rather than his recklessness.

“Speak kindly to Prince Lotor in the way that I speak to you now, Allura.  
We know not the burdens he carries.”

Allura’s destiny had been taken away from her, and of all people she was to be promised to, it was a far cry from her birthright. The finality of it was more crushing than infuriating.

Still, Alfor encourages her to be kind and understanding.  
She tries, because she loved her father and he was a good king and she would one day take his place.

Her pride screams at her to disobey, and to get back at this scrawny Galra cub who had no entitlement to her.  
To claw back even a speck of her own fate. She would test him, see if he was worthy of the future Queen, see if he could play the games of the royal court.

But she will  _try_  to be nice, she will  _try_  diplomacy before she resorts to introducing him to the wrong end of her javelin.

It wasn’t his fault he was so unimpressive. She almost felt sorry for him.

**

Lotor’s hands gently release the back of the chair as it settles back into place, and the last of his destruction was undone.

His room impeccable as ever, nobody the wiser to his earlier tantrum of overturning furniture and tossing aside whatever was in his way.

Too bad he could not unleash the same fury on the drone.  
Instead, he’d been humiliated in front of King Alfor. In front of their royal entourage and the keepers of the training equipment.

In front of  _Allura_.  
Word of his embarrassment would reach home soon enough on an ambassadorial planet hosting several hundreds, if not thousands of other races and cultures at any one time.

He was calm, but his face was still contorted and tensed in a dissatisfied scowl.  
_Breathe_.  
He wills himself to relax, wills himself to retract his claws and at least  _attempt_  to appear like a decent prince.  
Deep inhales and low exhales, controlled yet shaky, trying to soothe the whirl of anger spinning in his mind.

“ _Lotor_.”

He keeps down a growl; probably an unfortunate castle servant sent to check that he was alright. He could’ve sworn he’d locked his doors.

“Leave me.” he mutters, irritated.

“I’d rephrase that if I were you.” 

At the sound of her voice, Lotor’s shoulders clench upwards in instant regret.

“Allura.” He says suddenly, turning with apologetic surprise.

With crossed arms and an unimpressed frown, she was no handmaiden to be waved away, not by the weakling who couldn’t even beat the drone on infant mode.

“That’s  _Princess_  Allura to you, Lotor of Daibazaal.”

Her tone reminded him they were still playing the game; she had been far from impressed by his performance as of late, and he had to earn back that respect.  
She had been raised with the Altean values of diplomacy and peace, but her fiery spirit matched that of home.

“Likewise.” Lotor corrects himself, hiding away the dejected face for another day.  
Maybe when the princess was more open to handing out pity to the less fortunate, like her father.

Allura tries again.

“You haven’t stepped out of your chambers all day.”

“I do  _not_  wish to discuss things at present.” Lotor snubs the princess.

She groans aloud. “By the  _ancients_.  
You are a spoiled little prince, aren’t you?”

“I’ve  _said_  I wish to be left  _alone_.”

Allura bites her lip, probably holding back some sort of retort. Her hand squeezes her arm in self-comfort.

“I’m here to make sure the drone didn’t crack open your skull.  
I’m  _asking_  you, Lotor, so you’d best  _answer_  me.

Are you alright?”

She looked annoyed, sounded annoyed; but her words were soft and her eyes met his with the apparent intention of comfort. Lotor’s curiosity leads him deeper into the princess’ gaze; she is slightly taken aback, avoiding his eyes with an embarrassed glare towards the wall. **  
**

He heard the words left unspoken that her pride would not let her say.  
_I’m here for you._

She was lucky that he was smart, Lotor thinks. She is lucky that he could read past her stubbornness and need to convey strength.  
She is lucky that he grew up with it, that this is a language that he is fluent in.

He manages a small smile, manages to let go of his scowl for a few moments to show that he’d heard her unofficial offer of truce.

His head still hurt with the pounding of his heart, but he is glad that there is (temporary) rest between them.

“How kind of you to ask.” Lotor smirks.

Allura rolls her eyes with instant regret. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait!

…please stay. Just a little while.”

The princess likes it when he begs (apparently). She tries to grimace but the creeping smile she is fighting turns it into a painful grin.  
“ _Only_  a little while.” Allura concedes, returning the smirk.

**

The princess is a harsh warrior, but has a fierce heart that is seemingly fearless in both combat and the battlefield of the royal court. She is unafraid to love her people, her family, to throw herself into the thick of things.

She marched forward, each step firm and sure.

Allura did not shy away from speaking up, falling and making mistakes. She was unapologetic about her existence and strove for the good of the world in faith and love.

She was certain to impress those back home.

In the darkest corner of Lotor’s mind lived a tiny wish that he could be brave like Allura. That he could speak out without reserve, that he could wear his ideals on an open heart instead of hiding them behind an armour of false ego and tact. He prayed—to the gods of which planet, he wondered—that courage was contagious, that he would one day invite the same power into his being.

Her honesty suddenly made own his life seem so much more suffocating. Nobody else would do. Nobody else would,  _could_  understand him the way she did.

He’d never felt lonelier than the moment he had seen Allura from across the launch hall, too far away to whisper a last remark about how tacky the Galran guards’ helmets were. She raised a hand to farewell him as he boarded the ship back home.

All his wayward thoughts and opinions were to now retract back into the safety of his mind, not to be uttered in anyone else’s presence.

Her absence, and the need to suddenly reign in his words and actions again, exhausted him after a spell of careless joy and tactless words shared in the freedom of her company.

**

After word of the unfortunate incident eventually reached Zarkon, Lotor was to be sent home, be it for recuperation, a severe scolding or harsher training (maybe all three), and Allura bid farewell to him with a tentative wave as he boarded the ship back to Daibazaal.

When she met him again, it was many phoebs later. He had a kind of noble swagger in his gait, as if he expected people to make way and stare as he walked past. In his own mind, the world was his, and when he believed in it, his meticulous plans fell into place like fate.

She still bested him in their matches, but at least he could beat the drone now. It was a minor improvement, but it would have to do.

He was a better diplomat than she was. And Alfor, for all his irresponsible decisions in his younger years, treasured words over weapons. Even in their personal arguments, Lotor won, not through shouting or anger, but through reason and compromise.

She had learned a great deal from him, and Allura held that respect close to her heart. Patience was something Lotor seemed to have abounding, and it was something she knew would be good for her.

  
Unfortunately for Alfor, she had, for better or worse, inherited the worst of his recklessness.  
Lotor’s steady presence by her side comforted the king and in return, Allura found that the prince was very good at getting what he (and by extension, what  _she_ ) wanted.

She would never admit it freely, but she admired him for his abilities as a peacemaker, as tactician—and as the companion that would talk her down from starting petty arguments with members of the court. She admired the thief who snuck her out for forbidden flights over the Yalmor canyons, where their collective howls sung through the night and the bioluminescence of the moving packs lit up through the maze of craggy paths running through the rocky terrain.

Lotor never smiled for long—too easily did it become a judgmental stare, a look that could level icebergs of egos and cut through the toughest of pride. If he  _did_ smile, he was unable to hold a gaze for more than a few moments before turning away with a wistful face as some other thought took hold of him.

She noticed it only when he thought she wasn’t looking. The eyes of the princess were like a spotlight on him, and he put on his usual carefree grin, just for her.

Lotor sees that the princess has changed—she is less the brash child who wanted fire and grand duels and personal proof of power; more curious and willing to wait, watch and  _learn_.

 

It was the peak of the heat season, and the air on Altea was sweet with the scent of ripe juniberries in the air. Thousands, if not  _millions_  of Alteans had journeyed to the capital where the mountain harvest would take place. 

The berry festival’s midsummer night offering to the Goddess was to happen tonight, and Allura’s favourite dress was waiting for her in all its wispy glory. Her markings would glow in the starlight and with the heat of the bonfire through the gossamer fabric weaving itself around her body and she  _knew_  she would draw eyes from every last person.

Giddy off the nunvil she’d snuck off the feast tables in the great hall (Apparently she was old enough to fight but not enough to drink), she walked with purpose, in search of Lotor to drag him (by his ears, if she had to) to the festival.

 

She found him sulking in the hallways around his room, gazing longingly out the window walls over the great city.  
The lights beneath them were bright, but the stars above glowed with shimmering purples, greens and blues as the summer flares set off the photons in the atmosphere. Allura grins as her dress reflects the changing hues in its wispy fabric—the prince could  _not_  ignore her now.

“There you are, I’ve been looking  _everywhere_.” Allura chides him, leaning against a wall.

“Clearly you weren’t looking hard enough.” Lotor replies dismissively without looking.

“Come now, the festival is about to start!”

“I’m not going.” The prince says quietly.

“Why not? Did something happen?”

Lotor looks off silently out the window. “Father, he…”

Allura steps closer, expecting a head turn any moment, until she is right next to him.  
“Yes?”

“…wants me home.”

“Are you in trouble yet  _again_ , Prince Lotor?” Allura teases.

He does not respond.

“Would you  _please_  stop sulking for a moment and pay attention?”

Allura pouts, hand still holding out the flask of nunvil. Lotor’s jaw drops ever so slightly, but his eyes widen unmistakably at the sight of her costume. His mouth remains open as he takes the nunvil flask, eyes unable to move from the sight of the princess.

“Oh…love.” Lotor murmurs softly.

“Splendid, isn’t it?” she smiles, whirling about, letting the dress gently wave in the aftermath of her movement. The dress flutters around her arms like an iridescent halo. The glowing stars brought out the glow of her own body markings beneath the gauzy material.

“You could stand to improve it here and there.” Lotor smirks, taking a swig of nunvil. His face grimaces at the taste, but he raises the flask to his mouth again anyway.  
He fails to catch the princess’ eyes narrow in exasperation.

“Perhaps if I keep drinking this, you’ll look better in it—”

Allura snatches the flask from his hand with a glare. “Here I was, risking getting into trouble by stealing this for you.”

“You’re the princess, how is this  _stealing_  when you’re entitled to it?” Lotor drawls, wiping his mouth.

“I’m not formally allowed until I’m of age,  _Lotor_.” Allura snaps, crossing her arms.

Lotor chuckles and shakes his head before putting on his most charming grin, the points of his fangs biting into his lip.

“Shall we go to the festival then, love?”

“Well if you’ve changed your mind, we better hurry, or else we’re going to be late and father will be cross with me.”

**

Lotor tells her a story as they walk (she flounced ahead of him as he strode slowly).

“The ancients believed the summer flares were the voices of their ancestors speaking through the stars. The midsummer offering was to thank the Goddess for letting us hear them, for the harvest and as a reminder to always remember the past.”

“The ancients also believed that lightning was shot from the bows of the gods.” Allura adds as if she were reciting notes.  
“What of it?”

“You’d make a beautiful star, Allura.” Lotor suddenly says, voice becoming soft.

He looked serious, and the princess stops in surprise. The nunvil was stating to make her dizzy.  
“Would I?” Allura asks, trying to ignore the rising heat on her cheeks.

“No, love. The real question is…  
Would  _I_?”

**

She hoped her father wouldn’t notice the smell of nunvil on her breath over the bonfire smoke—Alfor himself seemed to have had a bit much, and the silly smile on her father’s face reassured Allura that all would be well.

Lotor seemed relaxed enough, chatting to the surrounding people, a chalice of juniberry juice in hand.

It was a heady mix of berries, the nunvil, the bonfire and the sheer heat of Altea’s summer. Allura  found herself carried along by the crowd as Alfor talked about his plans for the next season with her, how she was due for her next flying lesson.

...

Her father’s sudden silence cuts into her hazy thoughts.  
“Allura, are you alright?” Alfor asks.

“Why do you ask?”

She looked down as her hand touches something sticky—the clatter of a fallen chalice as it rolled on the ground demands their attention.

Allura’s mouth fell open in shock as juniberry juice soaked into her dress in a magnificent splatter.

She looks up at Lotor, arms outstretched and hand still rounded, thinking he was still holding the chalice he had just thrown absentmindedly.  
The prince’s eyes widen in shock.

“Lotor!” Allura snarls, hitching up the skirts of her ruined dress to hunt him down.

Alfor raises his hands in an attempt to pacify her. “Now, now Allura, it’s just a dress—”

The pair shoot out of the crowds, chasing all the way through the fields, pelting juniberries at each other until both were covered in brilliant pink berry pulp and leaves.

**

Allura would slam the doors to her wing of the castle if they were not automated.

Stomping and angrily whipping around her room, she couldn’t decide if she was on the verge of tears or if she was about to rip apart a training drone limb by limb. Both sounded good.

The Queen sat patiently with her through the night.  
It was just a dress. No matter how beautiful it was, she could get another.

As if that  _mattered_. Allura did not  _want_  another dress. She had  _hundreds_.  
She wanted  _that_  dress to not look as if she’d been  _murdered_  in it.

The night left, but her anger did not, and the Queen retired for the rest of the morning, leaving Allura to simmer in her quiet wrath.

What would be the best move?  
Silent rage? Outright fury?

“Allura.”

Her father, come to chide her about how princesses didn’t act like children over spilt juniberry juice, probably.  

“Father?”

He looked sad. Had she really upset him  _that_  much? This was not the first public outrage she’d thrown, nor the worst.  
Was it the stolen nunvil?

Alfor looks at her with a heavy gaze, as if the weight of the universe had landed on his back overnight.

“Allura…I…”

“What’s wrong, Father?”

 

**

 

“Love? It was an accident!”

“I’m not speaking to you.”

“By the  _ancients_ , Allura. It was just a dress!”

 

She did not turn, falter or slow in her angry strides—he was still a head taller than her, but her legs could certainly move when she put her mind to it. He began to struggle, trying to keep up with her and throw apology after apology at her.

“Allura!”

The wind blows, gently tousling their hair as if the Goddess herself were smiling down on them for their childish antics.

“Go  _away_ , Lotor!”

 

He hears it; the faintest catch in her voice as she tries not to laugh. Confidence restored, Lotor keeps his pursuit.

Allura was stubborn; but he liked to think he was smarter than her. Especially when her anger clouded her judgment.

“Allura!” he calls again, chasing with a laugh as Allura falls into a run.  
“Love, I’m  _sorry_!”

She is faster than him; his gangly Galran limbs slow him down just a fraction, but just a fraction is all she needs to keep him from gaining on her.

They each know the path; up the hills, beyond the fields and onto the rocky incline that would give way to the cliffs overlooking the nesting sites of the coastal wyverns.  
They meet there, where she is waiting for him, not because she had nowhere to run, but of her own volition.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll get you a new dress, one that’s even better—”

He quickly realises that she is not laughing at all.

Allura is crying; he knows by the way her fists clench helplessly by her sides and the way her mouth is set in a firm, hard line in an effort to stay silent.

Lotor’s eyes widen. He places his hand comfortingly around the back of her neck.  
“Love, if it’s that important to you—”

“Will you forget the quiznaking dress?!” Allura snaps, breaking out from his hold. Tears are streaming freely down her cheeks.  
“When were you going to tell me?” she demands.

“Tell you what?”

“The reason Zarkon wants you home—”

“—the reason is my father wants to keep us apart, that is  _all_ —”

“—it’s because you’re  _dying_?”

 

Lotor is surprised—she had expected complete shock, some sort of  _extreme_  reaction, rather than the soft astonishment he was giving her.

“It never did make sense. Your Galra blood should have made you stronger, faster. But you always  _lost_.”

“Perhaps I threw those matches on purpose? You always were a bitter loser.”

Allura glares at him. “ _You_? The most prideful being in the universe, throw a match? Tantrums perhaps, but never a match.

Don’t think I didn’t see you taking it out on the furniture in your room.”

 

Lotor concedes defeat with a weary smile. “What of it, love?”

“How could you not tell me?”

She’d meant for the accusation to come out sharper, demanding answers. It was more a despondent begging, and Allura wished she could take it back.

“A rather simple task when the last thing I wanted was to see you like  _this_.”  
The prince frowns. “I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. And I chose to live the remainder of my days by your side.”

“You selfish creature!” Allura yells.

Lotor’s eyes narrow.  
“Why not? It’s  _my_  life. I have the liberty of spending it however I wish. Do you deny me this?”

“I would deny you your  _death_ , you foolish prince!”

“You would deny me my  _life,_ Allura.

I would rather  _die_  than sleep for the next ten thousand years,  _wasting_  away in a pod. A fate worse than death.

Who are you calling selfish now?” Lotor snaps suddenly.

Allura squeezes her eyes shut and falls to her knees as her hands stifle her shaking sobs.

“Love, there’s not much time.”

She feels Lotor gather her into his arms, softly hold her, kneeling by her side.  
Allura is unsure if she should push him away—maybe over the cliffs, if he wanted to  _die_  so badly— or cling onto him and never let go.

A hand rubs her back comfortingly, the other cradling her head.

Allura felt so,  _so_  stupid. She should have been comforting Lotor, not the other way around.

“Father said you need to return to Daibazaal immediately.” She mumbles into his chest.

“Send me back when my eyes shut for the last time. I’ll not waste another moment without you.”

 

She felt as if she’d been stabbed, an excruciating pain not of a blade, but of whatever clenching fist of emotion had grasped itself around her heart. She wanted to hold tight onto Lotor, but her strength had left her with only enough to weakly grasp at his robes.

Lotor holds her tighter in her stead. It only makes her think about how cold he would be, how very soon his grip on her would slacken when his strength gave out. How soon, only the ancients would know.

Not even a tick to waste. She could do no more than grieve the oncoming loss in the moment, but she knew she had to push it aside, just for a little while.

They sat together on the cliffs and watched the wyverns soar into the great skies, arms intertwined. Lotor lay his head on her shoulder with a content sigh.

All her strength was wasted on holding back tears.

**

All the time in the universe could not have prepared her for the moment Lotor’s legs gave out underneath him without warning.

 _Not yet, not yet_ , she wills furiously, not when she hadn’t even given him her retort to his latest tease, not when he had yet to even come  _close_  to beating her in single combat.  
Not when he still owed her a dress.  
She was in denial even as she slung the prince on her back, running back to the castle, chest pounding as if it was trying to compensate for Lotor’s weak breaths and limp body.

Allura tries not to think, tries hard to push the memories of the nights Lotor had held her, taken her back to her room in his arms as she pretended to sleep, trying to keep her breathing slow and steady as she listened to his heart.

**

She had begged Alfor to see him, one last time, fallen to her knees at the great doors to Lotor’s chambers, where she imagined him lying there, surrounded by servants scurrying to get the prince ready for the trip back home.

Legs weak, eyes blurred with an endless flow of tears that would not be stopped, she pulled at her father’s cape as he walked past with a firm “no”.

The lone ship that had been sent to Daibazaal, she watched from the windowsill of her own room as it launched beyond Altea’s atmosphere.

Allura, determined to follow it for as long as she could, angrily wiped away the tears that blurred her vision, only to find that the ship had disappeared in the moment.

_He’s gone._

And he really was now.

She’d ordered the servants to take away her hundreds of dresses—give them to the people, just get them  _away_  from me—sat on the floor in darkness and silence until the sky was lit only by the stars and the whirling lights of the halo stations in Altea’s atmosphere.

 

Alfor greets her with nothing but sadness, kneels before her in the dimness.

“ _Why…_  didn’t you let me…”

“My beloved…it was  _my_  fault for not sending him back earlier. He begged me to stay for as long as possible. I alone will bear the burden of that mistake, so please…”

Allura’s eyes widen as Alfor’s hand covers her eyes.

“Cry no more. Let me carry your grief.

Let it go.”

“Father?”

_Forget._

**

Allura sighed, hugging her knees closer.  
“I loved the smell of the mountain juniberries in the early morning breeze.”

Alfor’s hologram smiled.   
“As did I, Allura.” He replied.

“Remember the summer berry festival?  
People would come from all over Altea for the harvest.”

“I remember how the berry juice stained your favourite dress. You were so  _upset_.”

Allura laughed. “It took forever for Mother to calm me…

I miss Altea so much. I miss  _you_ , Father. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“I know, Allura. But as leaders, we have to do what’s  _right_  for our people. Even if it means great sacrifice.”

Allura felt a tug in her chest—unsurprising, since memories of Altea always made her feel so small and raw. She was tired from the rejuvenation ceremony on the balmera, probably.

She wanted to cry, because her father was reduced to a holographic AI and she would never again smell the juniberries on Altea. The nostalgia of what was long gone.

What else was there to cry about?

**

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to post this last night but surprise 12 hour shifts at work had other plans.
> 
> HAPPY LOTOR EXCHANGE, SORBETTE !
> 
> Halfway through I remembered Allura’s reaction to Lotor being Zarkon’s son (“This is…deeply disturbing”) and then it was just “O NO maybe she doesn’t know him” until I figured, if Alfor could upload his memories onto a computer, it’d be pretty reasonable to expect he might be able to scramble other people’s memories too. After all, he is responsible for knocking Allura out before shoving her in a cryopod.
> 
> The final dialogue between Alfor and Allura is actually just straight from the transcript of Crystal Venom. Pretty much what started this whole thing. Hope this was enjoyable !  
> This is (i think) the longest oneshot I've ever written and really the first thing I've worked on something nearly non-stop for two months.
> 
> A huge thank you to blackmoonbabe and tinyastrarium on tumblr for beta/proofing/saving my ass.


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